


Branding

by Spearmintcondition



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Branding, M/M, Mentions of Trauma (past), Soul Bond, Soulmates, Templar Carver Hawke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2020-11-22 06:40:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20869853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spearmintcondition/pseuds/Spearmintcondition
Summary: The chantry is not fond of soul marks. The Templar Order has their own way of dealing with them.///Because of all the beautiful comments, I decided to add a second chapter. yey.Which got a little out of hand. So there'll be a third one, too, eventually.





	1. The Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, this is the first thing I've writen here. Well, not just here, in general really. I just had this idea and I thought: It can't be that bad, can it?  
Please note, that I'm no native english speaker. The punctuation is likely all over the place, too, cause it's so different. ...Sorry!  
But, still: Please, tell me what you think!

Cullen stared down at the soul mark.

A symbol of two people sharing one soul. Destined to be together.

The Order frowned upon soul marks.

The oath of a templar was supposed to be a bond to a holy purpose. Soul bonds had no place there.

On the day a recruit took their final vows, they were brought before a senior knight who then branded the blade of mercy, the symbol of the templar order, over the marked skin. A templar was bound to his faith, that's what was to fill his soul and make him whole in his bond to chantry and Maker.

To tend to this first scar was also seen as good practice, as there were surely be more to come in their devout duty.

Cullen had been the only one in his immediate family with a soul mark. His mother had told him the story when he was young. How the maker apparently marked two people who shared one soul. How, when you find the other person, you would be drawn to them and only after acknowledging the bond you would feel whole.

She knew all this, because her mother, his grandmother, had had a soul mark and had told her stories and legends about it when she was little.

His siblings had only used the mark to taunt him.

Especially his elder sister Mia had called him 'half-soulless' and 'how the maker had apparently deemed him unworthy of a whole soul', because he 'probably couldn't handle a whole one', and much more, every time she was angry with him or wanted to rile him up.

He had hated it.

His grandmother had never found her soul twin, but as far as Cullen could tell she was happy and a whole grandmother, not half of one.

That's why he was glad of the Order's view on the matter. He was going to pledge himself to a holy cause and would have no need for a soultwin.

And so he did.

Now, in this moment, holding the hot brand with the symbol of his faith in hand and staring down at the design he had once known so well on an others skin, on Carver Hawkes skin, he couldn't be sure anymore.


	2. The Rite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone <3, for the sweet comments and encouragements and Kudos and everything!!! 
> 
> So, I sat down and wrote more. And now there's a chapter two. Yey!  
This one is a lot longer than the first, and since English is still not my native language is probably riddled with punctuation errors and the like. It is also unbetaed, so please do not judge me too harshly. My only hope is, that is does not get in the way of the reading experience, and that you are able to enjoy it regardless!

A branding was a more or less unofficial affair. One of many practised by The Order. Nowhere written but exercised none the same. Only three people were usually present. The recruit who was due to receive their knighthood, the one wielding the iron brand and a witness or assistant. All of them branded themselves, or soon to be. The peculiars of the procedure were kept between those who were marked, even inside The Order.

In the Gallows, a Branding was usually done in one of the smaller forges. The usual purpose of this one was to produce chains, and it held all kinds of contraptions for doing so. It wasn’t used regularly any more, but maintained well and clean. An ideal place for the procedure ahead of them. The hour was late, so that no one would come upon them by accident. And after the fact, not too many would see the recruit making their way back to their bunk wincing, limping, or leaning on another knight for support.

Cullen had been in here only a few times, either to administer the brand or as a witness. You only assisted if a superior would wield the brand, and Knight-Commander Meredith's skin was not ‘marred by heretical magic’. Her words whenever the subject came to it. She therefore let Cullen deal with all things concerning.

He had almost been looking forward to this one. Cullen was glad to be able to help guide a new recruit to their faith. To give them purpose. Help them stand on their own. And, for him, this was an intricate part of it. It had helped to free himself, and he was sure it would help them as well. Even if not a few grumbled at the prospect. 

Now...

...now Cullen was frozen. Time had stopped as soon as he had lain eyes on the mark. Thoughts had simultaneously halted and were running rampant inside his head. He stared, unable to move.

It was a mirror of his own. In the same place even. Right above where lower abdomen met thigh. But on Carver’s right, where Cullen’s had been on his left. 

Cullen’s hand twitched as if to reach for his scar. To feel the reassuring edges of the sword and flame, which was carved into his skin with fire and promise. It was a mannerism he had adopted shortly after receiving it. He had traced the ridges like a worry token at night. And when the armour adorned with its counterpart prevented that, he just had to shift his stance a little — just slightly — so he could feel the tug of the scar tissue, to know he was where he belonged. 

Without it ... he wouldn’t be here. When everything had been taken from him. When they had tried to even take his mind, his sanity. He still had had this. Without it — without the feeling of the shape under dirty, shaking fingers, without the tugging strain when he kneeled and prayed — without it ... he would have broken.

“Ser? Everything alright, Ser?” 

A hesitant inquiry from Ser Cavin, the Junior knight assisting the procedure wrenched Cullen back to the present.

_No._ All was definitely not ‘right’. Would maybe never be ‘alright’ again. He opened his mouth, but instead of a curt reply, his body took the opportunity to take a lung full of air. Which he just managed to turn into a contemplative huff. He needed to say something. 

“The location is problematic” 

It wasn’t. 

“The skin here is always in motion, and given the proximity to more...“ He gestured at Carvers groin, eyes politely averted, in lieu of a descriptor. “...delicate parts...” 

That at least was true. 

“Heat up one of the smaller irons” 

There. That was... reasonable.

There were different sizes of brands, as there were different sizes of soulmarks. Was the mark in a tricky spot, there was even the option to tattoo over it, rather than use the brand. Cullen had heard stories about Templars with soulmarks in private places, or ones where the mark spanned so much skin that branding it would impede movement to a detrimental degree, though he had never encountered anything like it himself.

“I’ll rather work precise, than damage my Knight permanently” This last one was a mumble, mostly to himself. Cavin had already sprung into action, eager to obey his Knight-Captain.

Carver let his head fall back, covered his eyes with one forearm and groaned through the strip of hide Cullen had given him to bite on for the pain. For him this clearly couldn’t be over soon enough. 

But Cullen needed time to think. Analyse the situation.

His eyes moved away from the mark on Carvers skin. Due to the location Carver had had to strip both the upper and lower portions of his outfit. Only a thick leather smithies apron was protecting his private parts and his left hip and thigh region from harm. He was draped across a low bench to bare the mark and flatten the skin there as best he could. It was stiflingly hot in the small room and Carver’s skin was flushed and coated in a thin sheen of sweat. There was no light coming in from outside. If it was the late hour or if the light never reached this particular room Cullen did not know. The flickering of torches and the amber light of the forge were the only illumination and it danced across Carvers skin. 

_He was beautiful._ The realisation somehow only surprised Cullen on an intellectual level. And he frowned. He had known that already, didn’t he? Just as he knew that the man’s eyes, would he open them again, were a startling blue. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. Cullen needed to think. The question of how many other Templar’s eye colours he could name, didn't help. Because at the moment that amounted to a staggering total of: none. To Cullen's annotance.

Soulmarks. What did he know about soulmarks? 

They were supposed to mark two persons who allegedly shared one soul. Finding your soultwin was supposed to be a joyous occasion. And when you did, you were supposed to ‘just know’, didn’t you? At least, that’s how it was in the stories Cullen remembered. 

Suppressing a sigh he looked up, and tried to envision the first time he met Carver. 

The Wilmod interrogation. Cullen would not forget that in a hurry. Fighting a Templar recruit turned abomination tended to stick in your mind. Probably hadn’t been the ideal circumstance for a first encounter. But even if... Cullen did not remember anything like ‘getting hit by a figurative lightning’ or ‘forgetting everything else around them when their gazes locked’. He rolled his eyes at the phrases.

But he did recall the moment, didn’t he? He had seen Carver behind his Brother. Great sword, Ferelden style armour, cautious expression. _“Easy there Brother, that’s the Knight-Captain”_ And he had known who Cullen was. Was that significant? 

He remembered the fight, too. As every Knight worth their sword would, of course. He had definitely been aware of Carver. Concentrated on him even. But that was nothing out of the ordinary. Carver and his friends had been an unknown quantity. In a fight, you needed to be aware of everyone, foes and allies alike. At the very least to not deal accidental harm. Carver and Cullen were both warriors, had to work in close proximity, while Hawke and the two rogues attacked mostly from afar or stayed out of their way.

Still grabbing the bridge of his nose, he screwed his eyes shut in concentration. There was no time to analyse every little moment. What was he even doing, searching for clues about this supposed connection. He mentally shook himself. Dissipating the tendrils of panic, he hadn’t acknowledged were creeping in on him. 

“Almost ready, Ser!” Ser Cavin called from where he was standing at the forge.

Cullen's eyes snapped back to Carver. This was about Carver. Carver's future. From that first encounter Cullen had known that Carver was an excellent fighter. Rough around the edges but eager in his skill. An uncut gem. He remembered thinking what a good Templar Carver would make. That he belonged in the Order. Belonged in the Gallows. Belonged where Cullen was. And every following encounter he’d done his best to subtly recruit the man. Convince him of his worth. And he had succeeded eventually. Here he was. At Cullen’s side. Soon to be knighted. A lot quicker than any of them expected. Cullen had mentored him. Had grown rather fond of him in fact. Carver was blunt and eager, not only in the fighting ring, and honest to a fault. He considered him as close to a friend as a Knight-Captain and recruit could be allowed. To the point where others had commented on it. ‘Dog lords sticking together’, and probably more unsavoury things, where he wouldn’t overhear. But he hadn’t cared, because he was convinced of Carvers abilities. Convinced of the man himself. That he’d be an asset for the Templar Order. 

Could that have been the mark deluding his perception? That thought was troubling. Cullen shifted, plant his feet a little more and crossed his arms. The same position he adopted when overseeing the courtyard or training. Now however, he observed the man in front of him. 

Carver had lifted his arm from his face to glance behind him in the direction of Cavin’s voice and the new branding iron. Like this, the tendons of his neck stood out. And there was a line of light forming, from his jaw, just below his ear, down his side, gracing the edges of his soulmark, stretching down. Cullen's gaze followed that line all the way to Carver's ankle.

_He is beautiful!_

This time, the thought slammed into him like lightning, suddenly and violently, leaving him breathless in its wake. No less fact than before. No less true than before. But laden with significance: Cullen thought Carver Hawke beautiful. Why hadn’t he realised this before? 

A long since sequestered of part, at the back of his mind stirred: How long since you allowed yourself to see beauty in the world? How long since you let yourself feel anything? Anything except the rectitude which is required to do your job? 

Cullen shivered, despite the heat. He couldn’t help it. And his hand itched to touch his brand again. But it didn’t bring comfort, just confusion, more questions and doubt. How could this be? Why here of all places? Why now? When this truly was The Makers work, what was he supposed to do? Was this brand like the other The Order provided, not a saviour? And was it as final a cut as Cullen had always thought it to be? Or would it still work? The branding iron held no magic, but it was blessed by a revered mother before every use. And Cullen knew The Makers word held its own power. 

Uncertainty filled his mind like fog.

His eyes drifted again to the soulmark on Carvers skin. His hand itched. But not for his own mark. He wanted to touch. He needed to _know_. This would be so much easier if he just _knew_!

Lowering himself to one knee before Carver. He was looking at Cullen now. Cullen removed the gauntlet from his left hand. And slowly, almost reverently, never breaking eye contact, he rested his palm on Carver’s thigh right above his knee. Carver accepted the touch without so much as a blink. Cullen slid his fingers closer and closer to the mark on his hip. Carver's eyes widened just a fraction. But otherwise he just looked calm, intent. Carver's gaze was warm and welcoming, it seemed to draw him in. He was pulled in by that gaze. The room around him fell away, everything else seemed suddenly unimportant. Did he know? Maybe he had known all along and was just waiting for Cullen?

“Whenever you’re ready Ser!” Ser Cavin appeared on Cullen's right. Eager, holding out the hilt of the iron. Bringing Cullen out of a fugue for the second time this evening. 

_I’m not ready._

Cullen blinked ...

... and the moment was gone. They were back in the little forge. Sweat running down Cullen's back, soaking his tabard and tunic. Two sets of eyes fixed upon him expectantly.

Was that a frown on Carver’s face? What was Cullen doing? He looked down at the soulmark, all certainty suddenly forgotten. Was that really the same as his? That line looked different somehow, now that he thought about it? And the proportion there was all wrong, wasn’t it? He tilted his head and it fixed nothing. It was close... but... Maybe soulmarks could look similar? Cullen hadn’t seen one that looked like any other. The ones he’s seen were all unique. But that didn’t mean it did not exist. Was he about to ruin his career? And maybe more importantly, was he about to ruin Carver’s career? Carver’s life. He belonged here. Cullen was so damnably certain of that. And he was about to ruin it all on the basis of what? A hunch? He did not deserve that. ...He deserved better! 

He grabbed the brand from Cavin before he knew it. Another second and he had freed Carver from the burden that was Cullen’s broken and mangled soul. 

And when his fingers touched the edges of the mark, Cullen did not know. And the gasp on Carvers lips was lost in a scream, as the fiery pain hit his nerve endings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it!  
Any and all feedback, even constructive criticism is very welcome! :D


End file.
